Life After Theft
Page 25
“Th-there’s just something about you; something different,” I stuttered. “I’ve wanted to get to know you since the first time I saw you in the hall.”
I lifted a hand and let my finger trace down her face. I don’t know how I mustered up the courage, but my hand slipped behind her neck and I let my head drop forward until our foreheads touched.
“Um,” Sera said hesitantly, “are you seriously trying to make a move on me after you puked in the garbage can fifteen minutes ago?”
I froze. “No?”
She grinned now. “Yeah, I believe that.” She reached out and squeezed my arm even as she pulled her head away from mine. “Maybe another time,” she said softly.
Close enough.
We watched the six or seven stars that struggled to shine through the smog and the Santa Monica lights, and laughed when one of the “stars’’ flew away. We chatted idly about nothing until Sera groaned and pulled her hand out of her pocket. A soft blue glow from her Rolex brought us back down to earth. “It’s almost one. That’s my curfew on weekends.” She looked over at me. “I don’t think you’re quite ready to get behind the wheel yet. I’ll drive you home and have Khail come get me.”
I shook my head ruefully. “I would have been fine if it weren’t for all those Jell-O shots.”
“How many did you have?”
I grinned at her self-consciously. “After a couple it’s so hard to remember.”
She laughed and poked my stomach. “You really are a lightweight.”
“And you’re not?” I retorted, elbowing her ribs gently.
She rolled her eyes. I stood and reached down to help her up. “Thank you,” I said. “For . . . for everything.”
She hesitated. “Jeff?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time there’s a big party, will you come hang with me instead?”
“Really?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “You’re nice. Different,” she said, looking sidelong at me, “but nice.”
“Of course I will,” I promised. “This was way better than any party could have been.”
And with a smile like hers, I didn’t need beer to feel drunk.
Twelve
“WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?”
The voice reverberated painfully in my skull as I attempted to open my eyes. The instant they met the glaring, early morning light I screwed them shut again.
“Well?”
This was definitely not the way my mom usually talked to me—even when I was in trouble. I held my hands up to my eyes and squinted through my fingers. Yep, Kimberlee. “What do you care?” I mumbled and squished my face into my pillow.
“I got bored and went to the party—I wasn’t following you; I went to see other people. And you were gone! I had no clue what might have happened to you. Dead on the highway, taken off and gang-raped by the chess club—I don’t know!”
I raised my head for a few seconds, not even having the energy to get mad at her for breaking her promise. “Aww, you care. That’s sweet. Would you shut up now?” I flopped back onto my pillow. My head was throbbing and every word she said echoed through it like a racquetball.
She kept pacing and yelling, but I didn’t hear much after that. I pulled my pillow over my head and in the relative quiet managed to slip back off to sleep.
When I woke up again, she was gone.
Thank goodness.
My stomach rumbled and I glanced at the clock: one p.m. Damn.
I staggered out of bed, stumbled down the stairs, and tunnel-visioned in on the coffeepot—which luckily still had a few cups in it. That was exactly what I needed this morning. Afternoon. Whatever.
As my hand touched the pot handle my mom said, “Nuh-uh, Jeff. Coffee’ll only dehydrate you.”
I spun around and about dropped my mug as the kitchen lights made streaks across my vision.
My mom’s tinkling laugh went through my ears like a sledgehammer through a window. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit.”
I did as commanded and laid my cheek against the cool tabletop. I was halfway back to sleep when my mom patted my shoulder.
“Trust me, this will be better.”
I raised my head and looked down at a large cup of tomato juice, a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, a smaller glass of orange juice, and two white pills. I pointed at the pills and muttered, “Huh?”
“For your headache.”
Man, I was in so much trouble.
The bagel looked at least edible. I nibbled on one side to avoid thinking about the enormous tomato juice.
“Be sure you drink both glasses—you need fluids and electrolytes.”
I nodded as though we were discussing the weather instead of my very underage night of binge drinking. Or, uh, Jell-O shootering. I picked up the huge glass of tomato juice and forced down two swallows.
By the time I’d finished the bagel and both glasses of juice, I didn’t feel like I was standing at death’s door anymore . . . more like waiting at the end of the driveway. Mom schmeared me another bagel and brought a glass of water with it. “So,” she began, “you want to tell me about last night?”
I groaned and let my head sink into my hands. “I don’t even want to think about last night. It was awful.”
“How much did you drink?”
“About half as much as I puked.”
I lifted a hand and let my finger trace down her face. I don’t know how I mustered up the courage, but my hand slipped behind her neck and I let my head drop forward until our foreheads touched.
“Um,” Sera said hesitantly, “are you seriously trying to make a move on me after you puked in the garbage can fifteen minutes ago?”
I froze. “No?”
She grinned now. “Yeah, I believe that.” She reached out and squeezed my arm even as she pulled her head away from mine. “Maybe another time,” she said softly.
Close enough.
We watched the six or seven stars that struggled to shine through the smog and the Santa Monica lights, and laughed when one of the “stars’’ flew away. We chatted idly about nothing until Sera groaned and pulled her hand out of her pocket. A soft blue glow from her Rolex brought us back down to earth. “It’s almost one. That’s my curfew on weekends.” She looked over at me. “I don’t think you’re quite ready to get behind the wheel yet. I’ll drive you home and have Khail come get me.”
I shook my head ruefully. “I would have been fine if it weren’t for all those Jell-O shots.”
“How many did you have?”
I grinned at her self-consciously. “After a couple it’s so hard to remember.”
She laughed and poked my stomach. “You really are a lightweight.”
“And you’re not?” I retorted, elbowing her ribs gently.
She rolled her eyes. I stood and reached down to help her up. “Thank you,” I said. “For . . . for everything.”
She hesitated. “Jeff?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time there’s a big party, will you come hang with me instead?”
“Really?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “You’re nice. Different,” she said, looking sidelong at me, “but nice.”
“Of course I will,” I promised. “This was way better than any party could have been.”
And with a smile like hers, I didn’t need beer to feel drunk.
Twelve
“WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?”
The voice reverberated painfully in my skull as I attempted to open my eyes. The instant they met the glaring, early morning light I screwed them shut again.
“Well?”
This was definitely not the way my mom usually talked to me—even when I was in trouble. I held my hands up to my eyes and squinted through my fingers. Yep, Kimberlee. “What do you care?” I mumbled and squished my face into my pillow.
“I got bored and went to the party—I wasn’t following you; I went to see other people. And you were gone! I had no clue what might have happened to you. Dead on the highway, taken off and gang-raped by the chess club—I don’t know!”
I raised my head for a few seconds, not even having the energy to get mad at her for breaking her promise. “Aww, you care. That’s sweet. Would you shut up now?” I flopped back onto my pillow. My head was throbbing and every word she said echoed through it like a racquetball.
She kept pacing and yelling, but I didn’t hear much after that. I pulled my pillow over my head and in the relative quiet managed to slip back off to sleep.
When I woke up again, she was gone.
Thank goodness.
My stomach rumbled and I glanced at the clock: one p.m. Damn.
I staggered out of bed, stumbled down the stairs, and tunnel-visioned in on the coffeepot—which luckily still had a few cups in it. That was exactly what I needed this morning. Afternoon. Whatever.
As my hand touched the pot handle my mom said, “Nuh-uh, Jeff. Coffee’ll only dehydrate you.”
I spun around and about dropped my mug as the kitchen lights made streaks across my vision.
My mom’s tinkling laugh went through my ears like a sledgehammer through a window. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit.”
I did as commanded and laid my cheek against the cool tabletop. I was halfway back to sleep when my mom patted my shoulder.
“Trust me, this will be better.”
I raised my head and looked down at a large cup of tomato juice, a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, a smaller glass of orange juice, and two white pills. I pointed at the pills and muttered, “Huh?”
“For your headache.”
Man, I was in so much trouble.
The bagel looked at least edible. I nibbled on one side to avoid thinking about the enormous tomato juice.
“Be sure you drink both glasses—you need fluids and electrolytes.”
I nodded as though we were discussing the weather instead of my very underage night of binge drinking. Or, uh, Jell-O shootering. I picked up the huge glass of tomato juice and forced down two swallows.
By the time I’d finished the bagel and both glasses of juice, I didn’t feel like I was standing at death’s door anymore . . . more like waiting at the end of the driveway. Mom schmeared me another bagel and brought a glass of water with it. “So,” she began, “you want to tell me about last night?”
I groaned and let my head sink into my hands. “I don’t even want to think about last night. It was awful.”
“How much did you drink?”
“About half as much as I puked.”
